


Thorns

by wolfraven80



Category: Enchanted Forest Chronicles - Patricia Wrede
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 17:09:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5506052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfraven80/pseuds/wolfraven80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being friends with a magician meant tramping through enchanted flora in search of fauna that, as likely as not, would try to eat you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thorns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Violsva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violsva/gifts).



> A treat for Violsva. I finished writing my assignment early but I just wasn't ready to say goodbye to the Enchanted Forest yet... so I went ahead and wrote another story. Your letter mentioned that there must be a reason Morwen lives in the Enchanted Forest. I wanted to write something that gave Morwen a chance to talk a little about why she ended up there. I hope you like it.
> 
> Set between books two and three.

**Thorns**

 

            _I’d forgotten what being friends with a magician meant_ , Morwen thought as she navigated her way through a thorny briar after Telemain. It was one of those enchanted briars that always regrew no matter how many times you cut it back. To get through, you had to know exactly the right spot to approach; otherwise it remained impassable. In the handful of months since Telemain had come to live in the Enchanted Forest, Morwen had been reminded of the sorts of excursions magicians engaged in. For fun. Being friends with a magician meant tramping through enchanted flora in search of fauna that, as likely as not, would try to eat you.

            A series of muttered _ow_ s and _ouch_ es from ahead drew Morwen’s attention back to the task at hand. “I’m certain the user-interface module is nearby. I just need to–” Another hiss of pain and Telemain withdrew his fingers from the thorny tangle. She could see the scratches from where she stood.

            “Let me,” Morwen offered. He was about to protest–she could tell from the set of his jaw when one of his stubborn fits was coming on. She looked at him very seriously, one eyebrow raised. “Plants are my field. Or have you forgotten?”

            “It _is_ your area of specialization.” His shoulders relaxed and he nodded. “Very well.” He stepped aside and Morwen inspected the briar.

            After a few moments of careful observation, she held her hand before the briar, palm outward and then chanted.

 

            _“Green and growing, show me._

_Wild and winding, show me._

_Dark and gnarled, show me._ ”

 

            A tangled knot of thorny vines a little to the left began to writhe. Morwen reached for it gently tapped the knot. The vines loosened and fell away, creating a passage for them. Telemain nodded approvingly and passed through the briar.

            They emerged into a sunny clearing in the centre of which was a large creature. It had the head of an immense eagle, with white feathers which became a tan and gold mix around its ruff. Its eyes were closed and its head was resting on two taloned forelimbs stretched out in front of it. Somewhere around the middle, yellow fur darkened into a coppery pelt and disappeared beneath the pair of dappled wings tucked up against its sides. One of its hoofed hind legs kicked out in its sleep and its long-haired tail whipped its flank several times before falling still again.

            Morwen had never dealt with a hippogriff before. They did not, as a rule, drop by her house, and she made a point of not seeking them out. A cross between a griffon and a mare, hippogriffs were a hybrid of eagle, lion, and horse, making them incredibly unpredictable. Or sometimes just confused.

            “They’re very rare,” Telemain said in hushed tones. “I was thrilled when I discovered there was one living here in the forest. Though I’ve heard this one is quite garrulous.”

            Telemain’s blue eyes were bright with something akin to glee and it was clearer than ever to Morwen that he’d not changed one bit over the years since they’d last parted ways. He still possessed that peculiar mix of inquisitiveness and obliviousness that had always made him both brilliant and exasperating. “Well, we’re here,” she said, breaking him out of his awed stupor. “Did you have a plan for approaching the creature?”

            A huff of air shot out of the creature’s nostrils. “I’ll have you know,” the hippogriff said, raising its head and blinking the sleep from its eyes, “that my name is Arturious.” It rose and stretched its limbs. “Except when it’s Fred.” It stamped a hoof. “Sometimes it’s Fred.”

            Telemain stroked his neatly trimmed beard for several seconds and stared at the hippogriff. “Errr... Hello, Arturious. We’ve come to speak with you.”

            It tilted its head and peered at them, feathers bristling. “Come closer so I can get a scent.”

            Morwen and Telemain exchanged a look. She arched her eyebrows pointedly and Telemain gave a helpless sort of shrug. And then he stepped closer to the hippogriff.

            It did not try to eat him.

            Morwen relaxed as the hippogriff sniffed the air for a few moments and then blew out loudly. “You’re a magician,” it announced.

            “Yes, I–”

            “I don’t like magicians. The last one I met put a saddle on me.” The creature assumed an injured air, its entire body seeming to droop and curl in on itself. “He didn’t even bother with a lining. It chafed terribly, you know.”

            “I’m... sorry to hear that,” Telemain said, his brow furrowed. “Who–”

            “We’ve come about a particular matter,” Morwen cut in before Telemain could inquire further about the other magician. If Telemain and the hippogriff got to chatting, she was certain they would be here all day without actually getting what they’d come for.

            “Oh. That’s right. We’ve come to make a request.”

            The hippogriff huffed again. “It’s one of those visits, is it? Why doesn’t anyone visit me just to say hello?”

            “Perhaps it’s the thorny briar,” Morwen suggested.

            The creature appeared to consider this for a moment, extending its wings and then retracting them a few times. “I hadn’t thought of that.” It tilted its head and peered at them for a few seconds. “Who are you, precisely?”

            Telemain bowed. “I’m–”

            “No wait, let me guess!” the hippogriff said with evident glee. “Rumpelstiltskin!”

            “No,” Telemain said, stroking his beard. “He lives quite a ways outside the forest actually.”

            Lips thinned, Morwen took a long, slow breath. This situation was getting away from them with alarming speed. Before either Telemain or Arturious could meander into another digression, she cleared her throat and stepped forward. “I’m Morwen and this is Telemain. We’ve come to make a request.”

            Arturious fixed his yellow eyes on her and she wasn’t certain if he was assessing her character... or her edibility. Magical creatures could be fickle and it was always safer to assume that they were feeling peckish. “Tell me about this request.”

            The yellow eyes turned to Telemain as he spoke. “I need a feather for use in my magical studies.”

            The hippogriff lay back down in the grass, though he did not put his head down. “I’ll consider your request. But first you have to answer nine questions.”

            “Riddles?” Telemain asked.

            “Hmph.” The hippogriff huffed. “I hate riddles.” He shook his feathered main as if the entire idea made his him itch. “Hate them. No, these are regular questions. But if you smell like you’re not telling the truth, then I get to eat you.”

            Ah. Now they’d come to the eating part. It was surprising really how often travelling with a magician led to situations where one was treated like a possible meal. “If we tell the truth, you won’t eat us?” Morwen wanted to be certain there wasn’t a catch, trick, or loophole.

            “I only eat liars.” The hippogriff’s head bobbed with enthusiasm. “They’re salty!”

            “I see,” Morwen said, in as neutral a tone as she could manage. She cast Telemain a sideways glance. _Bother the man. The next time he asks me to accompany him on one of these excursions I’ll have to think of a proper excuse to stay home._

Telemain appeared unfazed and only asked with curiosity, “Do you eat a great many people?”

            “I ate a wizard a few months ago.”

            She caught Telemain’s eye and her lips twitched as she tried to suppress a smile. “I wonder if it was anyone we knew.”

            Arturious stretched out his front limbs, flexing his talons, and clicked his beak a few times. “All right... Question number one.” He turned and blinked at Morwen. “Why are _you_ here?”

            “Because Telemain asked me to come along.”

            Another beak click. “That was a dull sort of answer. But it was the truth so on to the next.” His eyes narrowed and his shoulders and haunches bunched as if her were preparing to pounce. Morwen kept her hand close to her enchanted sleeve just in case she needed to extract materials for a spell. “Do you plan to put a saddle on me–either of you?”

            “No,” Morwen and Telemain said at once.

            The hippogriff’s body uncoiled and he sat back down. “Oh. Well that’s good. In that case, what do you plan to do with the feather?”

            With a nod, Telemain replied. “I require the feather as an experimental component in my study of aerodynamic waveforms, especially in relation to invisible channel vectors in transportation matrices.”

            A blank stare was the only response from Arturious for about a minute, after which he turned to glance at Morwen. “Does he always talk like that?”

            “Frequently.”

            Looking rather miffed, Telemain glanced from Morwen to the hippogriff. “I believe you wanted accurate answers.”

            The hippogriff’s feathers bristled. “Truthful. I said truthful.”

            Telemain opened his mouth to speak but Morwen jumped in with “What’s your next question?” She did not want to sit through a debate on the difference between ‘accuracy’ and ‘truth’.

            “Question number four.”

            “Five,” Morwen corrected.

            Arturious raised one foreleg and, mumbling to himself, ticked off the questions on his left-side talons. “Oh very well. Question number five.” He mulled it over for a while before looking at Morwen. “Why did you come here?”

            Her brow furrowed. “I already told you, Telemain invited me along and I accepted.”

            A sound that began as a squawk and ended in a whinny poured out of the hippogriff’s beak. “I mean the forest. Why did you come to the Enchanted Forest? You aren’t a native.” And his tone made it quite clear what he thought of non-native residents of the forest.

            Now that was not what she’d expected. What could that possibly have to do with Telemain’s request for a feather? Pausing a moment to adjust her small rectangular glasses, Morwen tried to gather her thoughts. “I came to live here in order to avoid trouble.”

            The hippogriff snorted. “That answer has the distinct scent of truthiness.”

            Bother the creature. It was even nosier than her cats. “If a witch lives anywhere even remotely accessible, she’s likely to constantly have cast off children in her house who, as often as not, will try to push her into her own oven.”

            “Oh much better,” Arturious said brightly, his horsehair tail whipping the air.

            Glancing surreptitiously at Telemain, Morwen saw that he was peering at her with a curious expression. Bother the creature and Telemain both.

            Arturious turned his attention back to Telemain. “Does it matter what colour the feather is?”

            Telemain’s brow furrowed. “What colour?”

            “I have lots of white ones. But if you want one of the gold ones then the deal’s off because I only have a few of those and–”

            “No,” Telemain cut in. “The colour is inconsequential.”

            The answer was greeted by a happy whinny. “Oh good. More questions then. All right, magician, why did _you_ come to the Enchanted Forest?”

            Telemain shifted from foot to foot and cleared his throat. “I wished to make a closer study of the forest’s magic, especially of the primary linkages of the anti-wizard spell Mendanbar and I created. Furthermore...” Arturious had risen again and his tongue darted out of his beak as if anticipating a very tasty snack.

            “ _Telemain_ ,” Morwen said under her breath.

            His fingers kept twisting his magic rings. It was a gesture Morwen recognised from when they’d been children: he’d always gotten fidgety when he was nervous. He glanced at her and then followed her gaze as she gestured towards the hungry-looking hippogriff. “Oh very well,” he said, heaving a sigh. “While I had a variety of academic interests I wished to pursue here, the deciding factor was... Well, that is to say...” He looked at Morwen. “It was you.”

            “Me?” Surprise got the better of her and she blurted it out before she could think of something more sensible to say. Telemain was, and always had been, dedicated to his research. He loathed interruptions and got positively prickly if you made the mistake of trying to speak with him when he was in the middle of a project–which he nearly always was. He got so caught up in his research that he barely noticed the passage of years; he hadn’t believed her at first when she’d pointed out how long it had been since they’d last spoken previous to their adventure with Cimorene and Mendanbar. Morwen could not fathom how her presence in the forest could have had the least bit of influence on his decision to live here.

            And yet as soon as Telemain said it, Arturious cocked his head and, looking disappointed, said, “Do you have anything to eat?”

            “I thought you were planning to eat us,” Morwen said in a clearly irritated tone.

            A faint whinny escaped him. “I need a snack.” He stamped one of his hooves. “Fish would be good. Or hay. I like hay. Carrots too. And sugar cubes.”

            Rummaging in her enchanted sleeve, Morwen spent several moments examining the choices that had brought her here. In all likelihood, she should have taken Jasmine’s advice when the small ginger cat had suggested that everyone stay home and nap rather than going out on adventures. Yes, that would have avoided all of this nonsense. Finally, she managed to locate the shiny red apple she had placed in her magical sleeve earlier that morning. She held it out to the hippogriff. “Will this do?”

            Arturious considered the apple. “Is it safe to eat or is one of those magical witch apples that will put someone to sleep or turn them into something awful–like a hedgehog?”

            “It’s perfectly safe,” Morwen assured him. “I brought it along as a snack.”

            And, assured of the accuracy of this statement thanks to his truth detecting nostrils, Arturious snapped up the apple and swallowed it whole.

            Morwen crossed her arms and looked very seriously at the hippogriff. “Now about that feather.”

            “I still have more questions!” Arturious protested.

            “But you’ve asked nine already.”

            The hippogriff bristled, feathers fluffing out, making him look more like an overlarge pigeon than an eagle. “I was only at seven.”

            Morwen nodded. “Yes. And then you asked for a snack and whether it was safe.”

            There was a good deal of hoof stamping for a few seconds and several indignant squawks. Telemain must have been concerned, because he stepped closer to her, one hand slightly raised in preparation for a spell he’d have to cast quickly. But finally Arturious settled, sitting down, his shoulders slumped and head held low. “I was hoping you’d be tasty like that wizard was.”

            “What was it you asked him?”Telemain said. And as that was something Morwen, too, would like to know, she did not interrupt him.

            “I asked if he had any plans to harm the Enchanted Forest. He said ‘no’. And I ate him.”

            She and Telemain exchanged a look. His brow was deeply furrowed and his expression was one of concern this time and not curiosity. At least he had sense enough to take wizards seriously. She only hoped that the plot this wizard had been involved in was the one Mendanbar and Cimorene had foiled and not some new plot hatched by the Society of Wizards.

            Arturious gave himself a shake. “Since you’re not tasty I might as well give you a feather. There’s a loose one on my left shoulder.” Cautiously, Telemain stepped forward and reached into the hippogriff’s plumage. “A bit lower... Right there.”

            Telemain withdrew a white feather, half again as long as his hand. “This will do nicely, thank you.”

            With a nod of his eagle head, Arturious rose and spread his wings. “I suppose I have to go find something to eat now. Come back to visit. I like visitors. Even if they’re not tasty.” His horsey hind limbs propelled him forward, and with a few flaps of his wings he was airborne.

            As Telemain tucked the feather into one of the many pockets of his vest, Morwen seized the opportunity to observe the scratches on his hands from the thorny briar. Some of them were still oozing. “Can you transport us back to my house, Telemain? You should have those hands tended to.”

            “Hands?” he repeated blankly. He raised his hands and inspected them, only then appearing to notice the scratches. “Oh I see. Just a few scratches. Nothing to be concerned about.”

            “Nothing to be concerned about?” she said, incredulous. “This is the Enchanted Forest. Even the smallest scratch from a thorn or bramble can have side effects. I think being put under a sleeping spell for ten or twenty years might delay your research more than taking the time to have your hands bandaged.”

            Frowning, Telemain stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I’m perfectly capable of assessing whether or not the scrapes have traces of residual enchantments.”

            Morwen crossed her arms, her expression stern. “Perhaps, if you actually remember to check them. What’s much more likely is that the moment you get home, you’ll pull out that feather, go back to your experiments, and forget all about cleaning up those cuts.” Telemain looked indignant, but Morwen didn’t give him the chance to object further. “Don’t argue. Just let me see to the cuts and then you can be on your way and back to your research.”

            He heaved an exasperated sigh. “Very well.”

 

#

 

            Not ten minutes later, they were seated in her comfortable living space, in a rather uncomfortable silence. Several of the cats sat on chairs and benches and windowsills around the room, all pointedly ignoring them. A scattering of medicinal plants lay on the kitchen table. Morwen reached for these periodically as she performed several spells to help clean and disenchant the bramble cuts. From time to time Telemain would yelp and mutter something about technique, but all the while he pointedly avoided her gaze. Morwen suppressed a sigh; if they were going to be almost-neighbours then this just wouldn’t do.

            She held Telemain’s right hand in both of hers, the one that had four magic rings, and turned it over to inspect a long scratch between his thumb and forefinger that appeared to be turning purple. “However did you manage to be oblivious to these the whole time we were in that glen?”

            “There were more important things to deal with at the time,” Telemain snapped, obviously nettled. He’d always been like this–prone to distraction, easily offended, oblivious to his own safety. And really, his lack of good sense was infuriating. If it weren’t balanced out by brilliance and good intentions he would be completely unbearable.

            She’d applied all the right herbs and now she began wrapping linen bandages around his hands. “You need to come back and see me tomorrow so I can change the herbs.”

            “But–“

            “Otherwise you’re likely to wake up with a throbbing headache and a very fine pair of donkey ears.”

            Scorn, who was seated on a bench nearby and had appeared to be dozing, opened her eyes. “It might be an improvement.” Morwen shot the cat a reproving glance.

            Telemain scowled. “There’s no need to make light of the situation.”

            Morwen finished bandaging his right hand and moved on to the left. “I’m being entirely serious. You’ve heard of donkey cabbages. Well these brambles appear to have been crossed with them. They wouldn’t completely transform someone into a donkey, but they could cause some very unhappy side effects. I’ve seen it before,” she added, “when I was still an apprentice.”

            His expression softened into one of curiosity. “You came to live in the forest because of... children?”

            And at this Morwen paused and let out a long sigh. “While I was in training, I spent the better part of a year apprenticed to a witch named Sycora. She was _very_ traditional.” Morwen grimaced at the memory. “She hunched over, wore black robes with a pointed hat, kept one black cat, and cackled often.”

            “Quite the opposite of you, then,” Telemain observed.

            And this observation brought a tiny smile to her lips. “Yes. It did make for a somewhat strained apprenticeship. Sycora lived at the edge of a typical wood, within walking distance of three typical villages. Nearly every week a wicked step-mother would drop off children–one or two at a time–on her doorstep or they would arrive on their own seeking their fortune. Sometimes they would try to run away, or they would rummage through the house because they thought there was gold hidden somewhere, or the skeletons of missing village children, or some other such nonsense. Or they would try to set fire to one of us because someone in the village had told them that fire melted evil witches.” Shaking her head, Morwen huffed in frustration. “There was always some sort of nonsense going on. It made it next to impossible to actually _learn_ anything.”

            “I can see how such a situation would be trying,” Telemain said, nodding.

            “I’m certain it was half the reason Sycora was as bent over and grey-haired as she was by then.”

            Telemain raised an eyebrow. “However, the Enchanted Forest isn’t precisely without distractions.”

            “It was Kazul’s idea. I was at my wit’s end and determined not to end up like Sycora. Kazul thought the forest might suit me. And she was right. I can handle knights and frog princes and the occasional woodcutter’s daughter. But the fact that we’re leagues away from the nearest village means I’m not likely to face an onslaught of unwanted children.” That had been five years ago and during that time she’d bumped into Telemain only a single time and so briefly that he hadn’t even realized she’d moved to the Enchanted Forest.

            And this now brought them back to the thorny issue at hand.

            Having finished bandaging his cuts, Morwen rose and headed to the small iron stove in the corner. She removed the kettle from its hook above the stove and set about making some tea. Expecting Telemain to clear the air was a lost cause so she was determined to do it herself. As she reached into the cupboards for the teacups, she began with, “So I came here to get away from distractions. And you seem to have come here looking for them.”

            “Yes, about that...” When she glanced over her shoulder she could see that he was fidgeting with his magic rings again. And for a moment she smiled, remembering the boy she’d grown up with–no beard and barely taller than her, but with the same blue eyes, always alive with curiosity. Giving herself a shake, she brushed off the bout of sentimentality, for what she had now in her kitchen was not an inquisitive boy but a prickly magician.

            Finally he cleared his throat and began again. “As you know, I’ve always found that pursuing my research in a solitary manner was the most effective way of obtaining reliable results. However...” Morwen filled the silence with the clatter of dishes as she got out some spice cookies she had baked yesterday and placed a plate of them on the table. “The fourteen wizards’ staffs we recovered from the Cave of Stone Icicles,” he said once she was back by the stove.

            “What about them?”

            “During the time we spent studying them, we had remarkably different methodologies.”

            “ _That_ is an understatement.” They had disagreed on nearly everything, from how to analyse the staffs, to what precautions to take, and finally on what to do with them. Many of Telemain’s ideas had been remarkably good, but at the same time he was constantly overlooking obvious problems and solutions by complicating matters as he always did. He had a fine eye for detail but there were times when he could not see the forest for the trees–in fact he would be so intent on analysing a scrap of bark he wouldn’t realize there were trees at all.

            “And yet our efforts were remarkably successful.”

            Morwen brought a pair of cups and saucers to the table and then a blue and white teapot. Telemain waited until she’d poured the tea and sat down again before speaking. “I’ve come to appreciate the value of an interdisciplinary approach.”

            Aunt Ophelia, who’d been sunning herself on one of the windowsills, twitched one ear. “Sounds like he wants you to be his new study partner.” The tortoiseshell cat yawned as if to convey her opinion of the prospect.

            Scorn switched her tail. “Not that he’d bother to ask what you think of his research.”

            Morwen ignored the feline commentary–which was usually the best course of action in such cases. Instead, she sipped her tea and waited for Telemain to go on.

            “There are very few practitioners of your calibre so it made sense to settle in a location that would allow ease of access for consultation. Particularly when I do have an interest in the forest’s magic and in the wizards who are, in turn, eager to acquire that same magic.”

            Morwen had known Telemain long enough to know that, for him, this passed for a compliment. She set down her teacup and peered at him over the top of her glasses. “You chose to live in the Enchanted Forest so you could consult with a colleague from a different magical discipline.” He was still not meeting her eyes. Instead he seemed to have become fascinated with the contents of his cup. “I can think of a half dozen other witches, sorcerers, or sorceresses that would fill that description better that I do.”

            Telemain glanced up, and slowly an abashed smile crept onto his face. “Oh. Well... You also make excellent cider, which disqualifies most any other candidate.”

            And Morwen laughed.

            _Stubborn fool. He could have just come out and said that he enjoys the company._

            After that, she half expected Telemain to announce that he needed to get back so he could begin his experiments with that feather, but instead, he reached for one of the ginger cookies and dunked it into his tea. He took a bite, chewed slowly and finally, as if gathering his courage, he looked up at her again. “I–er–I’d be interested in hearing more about your apprenticeship.”

            And as Morwen began to tell the tale of her harrowing year of apprenticeship, she thought that perhaps being friends with a magician wasn’t all bad. At least when it was this magician.

 

**The End**


End file.
